


Cursed

by JoieWilder



Series: Cursed [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curses, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Incest, M/M, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sex Magic, Wincest - Freeform, Witches, gratuitous brother sexing, reluctance, there's plot somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoieWilder/pseuds/JoieWilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is always the one who takes care of everyone else, but when a hunt goes wrong, it's up to Sam to see his older brother through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

            They were on a hunt and everything was going great, same old same old, until one witch turned out to be two. All of the leads had indicated that what they were hunting was a single witch. One single witch that was gallivanting around the small town. A single, _male_ witch. That was why suspicion hadn’t even crossed Dean’s radar when a sexy young brunette chatted him up at the bar. Sam, too, had been annoyed – his brother, thinking with his dick again – but not suspicious. It was just par for the course with Dean.

            In under an hour, Dean was taking her back to the motel where they’d rented a room for the week, telling Sam that he’d call when it was safe to come back. Sam gave him a somewhat dirty look – didn’t they have better things to do than get Dean laid? – but let him go without a word. He was used to killing an hour or so while Dean was occupied in the motel room. But one hour stretched into two. Two stretched into three and Sam started to worry. _This_ wasn’t like Dean at all.

            Finally, though the last thing he wanted was to walk in on his brother in the throes, Sam walked the short distance back to the motel. As he approached the door, he could hear moaning. He felt a spike of anger. Here was Dean, having marathon sex while Sam was twiddling his thumbs and hustling pool at the bar. Uncaring now if he did walk in on a whole lot of naked, Sam strode through the door, bitch face (as Dean liked to call it) at full power.

            And he froze in his tracks.

            Dean wasn’t on top of the sexy bar woman. He wasn’t even on the bed. His brother was writhing on the floor, moaning, not in pleasure but, seemingly, in agony.

            “Dean!” Sam rushed across the room, but, to his continued surprise, Dean cried out at the sound of his voice and rolled in the opposite direction.

            “No, Sam,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Stay over there.”

            Sam was going to ignore him, but the desperation in Dean’s voice made him pause. It was possible that it was a trap and something terrible could happen if he approached the older Winchester. Since he couldn’t see any injuries and had no idea what was causing Dean’s pain, he hung back.

            Trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, he asked, “What’s going on? Who did this?”

            “Fucking…witch!” It seemed to be hard for Dean to gather himself enough to speak. Every word was wrenched out of him. Further, there wasn’t only pain in Dean’s voice, but Sam couldn’t quite place what else was there.

            “He was here?” Dean just shook his head, twisting partially onto his stomach, then back onto his side, then his back, trying to alleviate whatever was going on with him.

            In his pocket, Sam’s phone rang. Impatiently, Sam pulled it out. “Listen, this really isn’t – “

            “A good time?” A female voice purred. “Oh, Sam, I think it’s a great time.”

            Immediately, Sam knew who it was. The bar girl. “What did you do to my brother?”

            She laughed. “A simple curse. Entirely non-fatal – if,” she quickly added, “his needs are met.”

            Sam just barely restrained himself from shouting. “Excuse me?”

            “It’s a lust spell, Sammy, but I put my own, shall we say, spin on things. Here’s the short of it, tall, dark, and dim-witted. Dean is literally _dying_ to have sex. To survive, he needs constant stimulation and frequent orgasms – and not from his own hand. He tries jerking it himself? All he’s gonna do is get real frustrated, you feel me?”

            Sam seethed in anger, gripping the phone tighter. “I’ll find the hex bag you stashed in here.”

            “Didn’t use one. I’m better than a measly little hex bag. You’re going to have to do this the _hard_ way.” She laughed at her own pun.

            He gritted his teeth. “So, what? I’m supposed to buy him half a dozen hookers to get him through this?” He looked over at Dean, who was flushing a dark crimson and doing his damnedest to crawl to the bathroom, although he didn’t seem to have very good motor control.

            “And leave you all the time in the world to hunt me and my lover down? I don’t think so. The only one who can see Deano through this is _you_ , Sammy-boy. Just to prove I’m not all bad, I even did you a favor and left you some lube on the night stand.”

            “You bit – “

            “Ah ah ah, Sam. Wouldn’t want an extra three days, would you? Now, I suggest you pull your big boy britches down, grab ankle, and save your brother.” With a loud cackle, the line went dead.

            “Fuck!” Sam threw the phone onto his bed and paced the hotel room. It seemed like the bitch had thought of everything. By forcing Sam to be the one to – to take care of this, she made sure that she and the other witch had plenty of time to escape or at least get a lengthy head start. Who knows where they might be after at least three days, maybe longer if Dean needed time to recuperate.

            The sound of a door opening pulled Sam out of his head. Dean had made it to the bathroom and was currently laying in the doorway, a look of pain on his face. Another moan wrenched itself from his throat and now Sam could identify what else Dean was feeling besides pain. Lust. Dean was probably half out of his mind with it after being left alone for three hours.

            Sam pushed all of his anger at the witch aside. She would get what was coming to her, but right now, Sam needed to take care of his brother. His gut tightened sickeningly as he thought of what that entailed, but he tamped that down too. Dean needed this to live, so Sam would just have to suck it up.

            Bad choice of words.

            Sam walked across the room. Dean looked up at him and his eyes peeled wide with panic. “No, Sammy.”

            The younger Winchester knelt next to Dean. “It’s alright, Dean.” He reached down and gripped Dean’s arms, about to pull him up.

            Dean shook his head, trying to pull away to little avail. “Can’t let you do this, Sam. ‘S wrong.”

            “Yeah, it is.” He saw no point in trying to sugar coat it. It was incest, plain and simple. But he couldn’t let Dean die just because they didn’t want to cross that line. Truthfully, they’d probably done worse things in their lives. “But we’re just going to have to get over that.” He hauled his brother to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him to the bed.

            Dean dropped down bonelessly onto it. Now, Sam noticed the bulge in his jeans. He swallowed hard, thinking of what they were going to have to do.

            He caught Sam’s look and flushed harder. He curled into himself as another wave of pain hit him. “Find some girl.”

            “That won’t work. It has to be me.”

            “She could be lying,” he groaned.

            “She could be,” Sam agreed. “But I’m not willing to chance it. You’re in this much pain already. No telling what condition you’d be in when I actually found a girl for you to fuck.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “This is –“ disgusting “ – unpleasant, but it’s the safest option. We don’t know how long it could take for this thing to kill you if you’re left alone.” Dean remained quiet for the moment, either admitting defeat or forming a new argument.

            Sam knew he should get started doing…something…but he didn’t know where to start. He bought himself a few moments by walking around the bed and picking up the bottle of lube the witch had indeed left behind. He wondered if it had been enchanted in some way and questioned if he could risk using it. Then he thought about just how long three days was and decided he’d have to chance it. The last thing they needed was a curse _and_ chafing.

            He opened the seal and put it back on the table, then busied himself turning off lights, leaving only the glow from the alarm clock. Maybe this would at least be a little easier for Dean if the lights were off. He could pretend it was some random hook up…doing things to him. Christ, he couldn’t even think the words. How as he supposed to actually do any of it?

            Dean shifted on the bed, a low moan coming out of the darkness. “Sam,” he uttered hoarsely, and Sam knew that was as close as Dean would get to saying, “If you’re going to do it, do it now.” It put Sam’s mind back on what was important: taking care of his brother.

            He’d do it because he had to.

            Sam sat down on the bed, reaching out to find Dean. His hand landed on his hard stomach, his muscles rigid with tension. “It’s okay, Dean.” He slid his hand down to Dean’s jeans and felt his brother shudder, from disgust or anticipation Sam didn’t know. “Just shut your eyes and pretend.” Sam wished he could do that, but he’d never been into guys.  Hadn’t even experimented in college. Now he kind of wished he had.

            He found the button of Dean’s fly and tugged it open, then the zipper. Through his boxers, Dean’s hard cock pressed against his hand, causing Dean to jerk and mutter a curse. Sam took a steadying breath and pulled both Dean’s jeans and underwear down. Even though Sam wasn’t going to do anything that specifically needed them off, he might as well just dispense with them. They’d only get messy.

            Finally, when he had no other tiny time-wasters left, Sam reached out and took Dean’s cock into his hand. Under him, Dean went taut and his cock jerked. “Oh, shit,” he moaned out, and his hips thrust upward uncontrollably, trying to force stimulation. Either Dean wasn’t in control or he’d delved deep into a fantasy staring his favorite Busty Asian Beauty. Either way, it didn’t matter, Sam supposed.

            Sam started to stroke. It was weird, yeah, but it wasn’t all that different from getting himself off. Sure, the angle was off, the size somewhat different, but the general idea was something he had done many times before. He could do this for Dean, the brother who had again and again given anything he could to take care of Sam. Well, now it was Sam’s turn to take care of his big brother.

            Dean moaned as Sam stroked him, his hands fisting in the coarse motel sheets. “Oh, _God_.” He thrust into Sam’s hand and he started stroking faster, needing to get Dean to his release. Hopefully, that would make the curse ease off and take away some of Dean’s pain.

            It didn’t take long at all. The tension had been gnawing at Dean for three hours now; he was so pent up, just a couple of minutes after Sam started, Dean exploded. He shouted, arching up into Sam’s hand as he came, moaning and jerking with the violence of his orgasms. In the aftermath, he collapsed against the bed.

            Sam swallowed, his mouth gone dry. That had actually been kind of – nope! He was definitely not going to finish that thought. This did not need to be made even weirder.

            He cleared his throat and took the hem of Dean’s shirt and tugged it up. “Here,” he murmured, hating to break the illusion Dean had no doubt conjured up. “Let’s take this off. It’s a mess.” In silence, Dean acquiesced and the shirt joined his jeans on the floor. Dean, now, was fully naked while Sam was fully clothed. He considered stripping, evening the score, but that was just too much.

            Sam shifted uneasily on the bed. “Are you feeling any better?”

            The bed jiggled as Dean moved to sit up. “Yeah. Once I…” he swore under his breath. “Once I got off, everything kind of eased up. Doesn’t hurt anymore.” Dimly, Sam saw him reach up and rub his face. “Don’t know how long it’ll last, though. I can feel it already, the – the lust, building up.”

            Sam nodded slowly. “She said you’d, ah, that you’d need pretty much constant stimulation.”

            “And lots of orgasms. Yeah, she told me all of it after she hexed me, but I couldn’t think straight when you got here.” Sam thought there might be a joke in there about thinking “straight” but he wasn’t going to find it.

            “Why didn’t you call me as soon as it happened?”

            “She wouldn’t let me. She stayed and kept me right where I was until she heard you coming.” Sam couldn’t be sure because of the red tint that the alarm was giving out, but he thought he saw Dean flush darkly. “She said she wanted me warmed up for you.”

            “Christ, what a sick fuck.”

            Dean ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Sammy, I’m so sorry. I should never have – “

            “Stop it,” he interrupted, knowing what Dean was going to say. “This isn’t your fault. You’ve picked up girls in almost every town we’ve ever been in. If we’d known there was a second witch, we both would’ve been more vigilant, but all the signs pointed to the man. So save the blame game for another time. Although,” he laughed darkly, “I don’t think you’ll be looking for sex anytime soon.”

            Dean laughed humorlessly and shifted on the bed again. He was obviously starting to feel uncomfortable.

            “Lay back, Dean.”

            “No. We can wait longer. It’s not that bad.”

            Sam sighed. “Come on, Dean, there’s no need for you to suffer any excess pain from this.” Not when they were both suffering in other ways already.

            Dean’s head rolled against the wall as he shook it. “And there’s no need for you to have to touch me more than absolutely necessary. Maybe if we hold off as long as possible, we won’t have to do very much.”

            “And what?” Sam argued angrily. “You want me to just sit around and watch you suffer for hours until finally it hurts so bad you have to let me touch you?”

            “Yes, damn it! Sam, I hate that you have to do this. That _we_ have to do this. It’s disgusting.” His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth, his hands fisting against the bed, harsh breaths loud in the quiet room.

            “Well, that is just too fucking bad, because this is the hand we’ve been dealt. Now shut up, lie down, and let me jerk you off.” _This may actually be the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had._

            “Sammy.”

            “Dean.” When the elder Winchester still refused to move, Sam wrapped one hand around his ankle and yanked him down the bed. Ignoring his cursing, Sam laid one hand on Dean’s warm thigh and gripped his cock with the other. “Just shut your eyes and turn on _Casa Erotica_.” Dean cussed at him, but his hips thrust up into his hand, seeking more.

 

* * *

 

            And so the hours slowly passed. Between rounds, they mostly sat in stony silence. A little routine formed. Sam would jerk him off – which he soon started using lube for – and then they’d have ten to fifteen minutes before Dean actually started to become uncomfortable. Another twenty or so before he started gritting his teeth. Around the half hour mark, he would reluctantly let Sam ease him. So the cycle continued.

            It was well into the morning now. Outside, people were moving about, cars were coming and going. Light was shining through the window; the flimsy curtains weren’t much help against the bright morning sun. Which meant that the brothers could see each other clearly.

            At the moment, Dean was actually asleep. A couple of hours ago, he started nodding off during the brief respites, always waking when the pain got to be too much. Sam hadn’t slept at all. He couldn’t risk it, because he knew that his brother was stubborn enough to suffer through it until Sam finally woke up and forced him to let Sam touch him.

            Like the other times, Sam used this quiet time to clean Dean up. He took the used wash cloth into the bathroom and rinsed it out. Then he went back into the other room and rinsed off Dean’s chest and stomach. There wasn’t all that much spunk to clean up; after coming so many times, the orgasms were mostly dry now. Next Sam gently cleaned Dean’s cock, which was already beginning to rise again, thanks to Dean’s own Viagra from Hell. Sam knew that he had to be getting sore by now, despite using lube to ease things.

            In the back of his mind, Sam wondered if he shouldn’t try something different. Both of his arms were beginning to feel like limp noodles and they were still within the first twenty-four hours. Jerking Dean off for all three days just wasn’t going to be an option. The next logical step would be…But could he do it? God knew, it wasn’t something that he had ever thought he would attempt. Surely, he could pull it off, though. Men and women did it all the time.

            He looked down at Dean, who had begun frowning and twitching in his sleep – it wouldn’t be long now – and thought that it wasn’t a matter of if he could or couldn’t do it. He _had_ to. For Dean, he could and he would.

            Dean came awake a few minutes later, his hips grinding against the bed. “Sammy,” he groaned, voice like gravel. It sent a little tingle down Sam’s spine, which he ignored.

            Sam came back to the bed with a cup of water. He took Dean’s shoulder and urged him over onto his back. “Drink some water.” After Dean had drained the cup, Sam set it aside. “Dean, I’m going to be honest. My arms are over-cooked spaghetti. They need a break.”

            Dean just nodded, shutting his eyes. “S’okay, Sam. I can hang a while.”

            The hell he could. Sam looked down at his cock and found exactly what he expected; hard, aching, twitching arousal. “So I’m going to do something else this time. Not going to use my hands.”

            “I’m not into feet,” Dean said tiredly, a hint of his usual self shining through.

            Sam sat down on the bed. “Not using those either.” He rested his hand on Dean’s thigh and, taking a slow breath, leaned down.

            Before he could make contact, Dean made a choked sound and fisted a hand in Sam’s hair to stop him. “Sam, you can’t.” He swallowed hard. “It’s too much. Too far.”

            Sam looked up at him. “We have to do what we have to do, Dean. Whatever it takes to survive.” He pulled Dean’s hand out of his hair and leaned back down.

            He’d never been so confronted with penis before. There it was, right up in his face. More than a little intimidated – but not half as squicked out as he should be – he just looked at it for a second. Not yet up to taking it into his mouth, he decided to take it slower, work up to it. He licked the head experimentally, eliciting a hiss from Dean. Sam glanced up and found his eyes shut tight. That was good, he told himself and went back to the task at hand. Or mouth, as the case may be.

            He stroked his tongue over the head again, then down the shaft. The taste wasn’t bad, he supposed. A little precome, a little lube. It wasn’t unpleasant. Buying himself some more time, he traced his tongue along the veins, trying to remember every blowjob he’d ever had – because, fuck, if he was going to do this, he might as well do it _well_. He seemed to be having the desired effect, because Dean was moaning softly, his thighs tensing under Sam’s hands.

            Sam spent a while stroking him with his tongue, even wriggling it into his slit a little, wondering if Dean would like it like he did (answer: he did). He was still nervous about actually taking Dean into his mouth.

            “Please,” Dean gasped after a while, breaking the silence. The only words Dean ever said while Sam was touching him were swears, so Sam knew that Dean had to be desperate now and he immediately felt guilty. _This isn’t about what you’re okay with_ , Sam scolded himself. _This is about taking care of Dean._

            With one last calming breath, Sam opened his mouth and took Dean inside. It was strange – beyond strange. For a moment, all Sam could do was sit there, still with the head of Dean’s cock in his mouth. Quickly, he started to move his mouth on him to keep up the stimulation with his tongue. Rather quickly, he picked up a bobbing motion that felt familiar; it was just like the ones girls had used on him when they did this. With that part figured out, he focused on trying to suck on this huge thing in his mouth while also keeping his teeth out of the way. Suddenly, he felt a deep respect for women and men everywhere. Sucking cock was not easy.

            It took Dean longer to come this time, no doubt because of Sam’s many fumbles. But when he did, he arched sharply, nearly making Sam gag on him, and cried out, “Sammy!”

            Sam was too surprised to hear Dean calling his name to prepare for the actual result of the orgasm: Dean’s come. Fortunately, there wasn’t much of it, so it didn’t choke him or go shooting out of his nose. He pulled off of Dean’s cock after he had finished and, not knowing what else to do, he swallowed the salty-bitter load. He supposed he could have spit it out, but, really, what was the point? Like sucking his brother’s dick could be made any _more_ weird.

            As soon as Sam took his hands off of Dean, his brother rolled away from him, bringing his knees up to his chest. Sam frowned. “Dean? Don’t’ tell me it’s already hurting again.”

            “It’s fine,” Dean said sharply.

            “Well, then, what is it?” Dean wasn’t relaxed as he usually was. He was still as tense as he’d been when Sam was sucking him.

            “I – fuck. I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t really thinking of you. It just, you know, slipped out.”

            Seriously? He was freaking because he had said Sam’s name when he came? Sam had all but forgotten it until Dean mentioned it. “Well, Dean, I was sucking your dick. It’s understandable that you’d blurt my name out. I know you’d rather it be anyone else.”

            Dean heaved a sigh and muttered, “Still. That just made things…weird.”

            “Things are already pretty fucking weird, Dean.” Sam rose to his feet and went over to their bags. He knew he had some sandwiches somewhere and they both needed to get some food down. He took the two ham-and-cheeses back to the bed where Dean had pulled the blanket over his lower body. It was something he hadn’t bothered with in the dark, but now, Sam had to imagine he was feeling more exposed. What with all the it’s-a-beautiful-morning shining through the window. Sam just tried to ignore Dean’s nakedness. This whole situation was hard enough on both of them.

            He proffered one of the sandwiches to Dean. “Here. Eat. You need to keep your strength up.” Dean groused but accepted it and started eating. When they’d both finished, Sam got them both some more water. They didn’t talk. What could there be to say?

            Dean knocked his head back against the wall. “Shit.” Sam looked at him and found a sizeable tent in the blanket. The curse was making itself known again.

            Without a word, Sam pulled the blanket away and eased down onto the bed.

 


	2. Day Two

            The second time was easier than the first. Sam learned from his mistakes and things went a little faster this time. At one point, he caught himself looking up at Dean’s face. It was drawn tight, his head arched back against the pillows, lower lip pulled between white teeth, and his eyes squeezed shut. Small sounds escaped his throat. When Sam realized what he was doing, he shut his eyes and refocused on what he was doing. After this was all over, he needed things to be able to go back to normal. Looking at Dean’s face while he did this…somehow, it was too intimate. It made him feel strange things that he wasn’t going to delve any deeper into.

            The third time was even easier. Sam knew exactly what Dean liked now. Exactly what would make Dean shudder and hiss and curse. Sam would never admit it, but it gave him a little thrill to be good at this. He tried to tell himself that it was only natural. It was no different than when he went down on girls. He enjoyed bringing them pleasure. This was an extremely bizarre, extremely _male_ case, but the same basic principle still applied. Not that he’d ever admit it. This was all about necessity, not pleasure. Not even for Dean, really. His brother didn’t _enjoy_ that Sam was sucking his cock. Still, he was going to forget all about the little thrills he was getting when this was over.

            After a few times, Sam had to give his jaw a break and jerk Dean off instead. They fell into a new routine following that, alternating between blowing and jerking off, giving Sam a chance to rest. That was going pretty well until sometime during the night. They had passed the twenty-four hour mark just over an hour ago.

            “Son of a bitch,” Dean moaned, rolling over onto his back. After his last orgasm, he’d turned onto his side to try to nap. That had only been ten minutes ago.

            “Dean?” Sam frowned at him in the red-tinged alarm clock light. “What is it?”

            “Curse. Hurts like fuck.”

            “But we just – “ Sam cut himself off with a swear. “You don’t think this thing gets _worse_ as time passes do you?”

            Dean moaned in pain again. “It fucking seems like it. Started almost as soon as I came.”

            Fucking fuck. “Okay, Dean, it’ll be okay.” He slid his hand up Dean’s thigh and cupped his straining erection. Yeah, it was definitely time for another round. Ignoring another “son of a _bitch_ ” from Dean, Sam bent down and took him into his mouth.

 

            Sam opened his eyes to bright sunlight streaming in the window. At first he couldn’t figure out what was going on, but then he felt a hard length pressed up against his ass. Actually, Dean had his whole body pressed tightly against Sam and was rubbing on him like a cat in heat.

            “Shit,” he swore harshly. He’d fallen asleep at some point and now Dean had to be suffering something fierce if he was desperate enough to rub on him like this. He tried to roll over, but he found that Dean’s hands were fisted tightly in his shirt. He reached back and touched Dean’s hair. The older man jolted at his touch. “Dean,” he said gently. He looked over his shoulder but was too close to see more than his hair. “How long have I been out?”

            “About dawn,” he gritted. Sam checked the clock. It was after noon. Jesus Christ.

            “Fuck, Dean, you should’ve woken me.”

            “Need your rest.” Dean’s hips ground into Sam and one of his legs came up over Sam’s hip, like he couldn’t control his need. He probably couldn’t. “Not so bad if I – if I rub against you. So sorry, Sammy. So sorry.”

            Sam ignored the sorry part and instead reached for his pants. Dean needed to get off _now_. He nudged Dean’s leg off of his and pushed his jeans and underwear down.

            Dean made a choked noise at the feel of skin against his weeping cock. “No, Sam.” Despite his denial, he didn’t try to move away or even release Sam’s shirt. In fact, he thrust into the contact, his cock tucking into the cleft of Sam’s ass.

            Sam suppressed a shudder – of disgust or something else he wasn’t sure – and looked around for the lube, finding it partially hidden under a pillow. He grabbed it and poured some into his palm. “Shh, Dean. Everything is going to be okay.” This was something he’d never done, only heard about – where he couldn’t even remember – but it should do the trick. He reached down and between his legs and grasped Dean’s cock, covering it with the cool lube. He smeared what was left over his inner thighs, then closed his legs together, providing a tight, slick space for Dean to fuck.

            He was so far gone, he couldn’t try to talk Sam out of it. His hips took control, pulling back and snapping forward in a movement he’d made countless times before. Sam felt Dean presses his face into his back between his shoulder blades, muffling himself. To his surprise and against his will, Sam felt himself start to harden. Dean’s cock was stroking against his balls and the sensitive spot behind them, sending tingles of pleasure all throughout Sam’s body. Even more, Dean’s weight behind him felt kind of…good. He was hot and sweaty and pushed up as tight as he could get to Sam’s back.

            He deeply regretted having chosen this way to get Dean off. It wouldn’t have taken that much longer to change their positions and get his mouth on Dean’s cock. And then he wouldn’t be pushing his ass back on him, meeting Dean’s thrusts, almost as if Dean were actually…but he wasn’t. They sure as hell weren’t going to go there. There were enough other ways to take care of Dean that _that_ couldn’t possibly be necessary. Even if his jaw _did_ feel like it was about to fall off and his arms were like un-set Jell-o.

            Mercifully, it didn’t take Dean long to come. After just a couple of minutes, Sam felt Dean stiffen against his back. He moaned deeply, “ _Fuck_ ,” and then there was wetness on Sam’s thighs.

            As soon as Dean rolled away, Sam jumped up and high tailed it to the bathroom. He couldn’t let Dean see that he was hard. He knew his brother and so he knew that Dean would only blame himself. Then he’d fight Sam harder about what they needed to do. In a small part of Sam’s mind, he even wondered if Dean wouldn’t think he was a freak for liking that. It was just better if Dean didn’t know.

            He cleaned himself up and, after talking his hard-on away, went back into the bedroom. Dean had the pillow over his face.

            “Not trying to smother yourself are you?” Sam asked as he fetched a cup and filled it with tap water.

            “Maybe,” came the muffled reply. Dean removed the pillow only to look stonily at the ceiling. “Sam, I’m so –“

            “Fucking stop it, dean.” Sam held out the cup to him. “Stop saying you’re sorry. We’re both just doing what we have to.”

            Dean took the cup without looking at his brother. “How are we supposed to come back from this?”

            Sam took the cup from him when he finished and refilled it for himself. “We will because we have to. We’ll put it behind us, just like we always do.” He drank the water, looking at himself in the mirror over the sink. There was no other option. They would get past this, just like they got past everything else that happened in their fucked up lives.

            After a moment, he turned and went into the bathroom, rinsed out the washcloth he’d used on himself and went back to the bed, handing it to Dean so that he could clean up. “And don’t you ever let it get so bad again, Dean. Remember that this curse can _kill_ you.”

            Dean glared, but not at Sam. At the ceiling. He didn’t even look at Sam when he handed the wash cloth back. “Fine.” He looked down his body. His dick had already risen to full hardness again. “God _damn_ it. Just kill me now, Sammy.”

            Sam’s lips twitched, almost into a smile. “I don’t think so, Dean.” He tossed the soiled wash cloth into the bathroom, then went about finding his pants and pulling them on. They certainly weren’t doing that again. He got onto the bed and took Dean’s cock into his hand, even though his arm started screaming in protest soon after he began to stroke.

            Afterwards, Sam helped Dean to the bathroom, then they both had some more water and a quick bite – it was Dean’s junk food, but it was better than nothing. Then it was go time again. Sam bent down and started sucking him but nearly impaled his throat on Dean’s cock as his arms gave out. He just barely caught himself in time, bracing himself on Dean’s thighs.

            He flopped over onto the bed. “Fuck.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and his hand shook. “We’re going to have to do this differently.” Something he’d done with girls but it was going to be very different now.

            “How?” Dean looked at him warily, pain evident in his eyes.

            “You’re going to have to – shit, you’re going to have to fuck my mouth.” He motioned to himself, vaguely trying to convey what he needed Dean to do. “Y’know, straddle me.”

            “Fuck that, Sam – “

            “Look, Dean. My arms are shot. Just come here and let’s get this over with.”

            Dean muttered a litany of swears under his breath, but he did as Sam said until he was resting on his knees over Sam, cock pointed at his face. Sam took a slow breath and got to sucking. The angle was different and Dean was too far away for Sam to take more than the head. Without thinking, Sam brought his hands up and pushed on Dean’s ass, forcing him to sway closer. Sam held him where he wanted him and fell back into the routine of blowing him.

            When Dean rolled away, he said softly, “Shit, Sam, what are we going to do? We’ve still got another day and a half or so of this _and_ it’s getting worse.”

            Sam didn’t reply because he didn’t have an answer that Dean would like. He had thought they could do this without doing the thigh fucking – or worse – again, but he didn’t know how many more blowjobs he could give. Even now, he felt like he could barely open his mouth.

            He got to his feet and got them both some more water. By the time he’d finished that little errand, Dean was already showing signs of distinct discomfort. And hunger was coming to be a growing issue for Sam and likely for Dean as well. They’d finished off everything that they’d had in their packs. Just to be sure, he went through their belongings again, hoping maybe he’d missed a packet of beef jerky somewhere.

            Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. He sighed in defeat. “We’re going to have to do something about food soon.” _I can’t survive on come alone,_ he almost said and nearly burst into hysterical laughter.

            Dean fidgeted on the bed, the curse gnawing away at him. “I dunno. Order pizza?”

            “Does this wide spot on the map even have a pizza place?”

            “Fuck if I know.”

            Sam looked around for a telephone book but couldn’t find one. “I might need to run to the store. There was a grocery store not very far from here. I could be there and back in twenty minutes, tops.”

            “As good a plan as any.” What neither of them said was that those twenty minutes would be agony for Dean. “But not right now.” Sam could tell from the tension in his voice that it was time again – he’d gotten real good at discerning that by now.

            Sam just moved over to the bed and laid down so that Dean could fuck his face again.

            As soon as Dean came, Sam was on his feet. He’d go to the store as fast as he could and buy the bare essentials. Bread. Lunch meat. Cheese. The store wasn’t far, probably only a five minute drive.

            He snatched the Impala’s keys from the table and made a beeline for the motel door, but Dean’s voice stopped him.

            “And Sammy?”

            “What, Dean?” He asked in exasperation. His brother knew he had to be fast.

            “Don’t forget the pie.”

 

* * *

 

            When Sam returned to the motel – exactly twenty-two minutes after he’d walked out of the door – Dean was on half on his stomach, facing away from the door. He’d pulled one knee up and was partially curled around it. Sam felt a flush suffuse his body; in this position, he had a _great_ view of Dean’s ass. If he hadn’t known about the curse, if he hadn’t known Dean was only into women, if Sam had been anybody else, he almost would’ve said that Dean had very effectively presented himself for Sam’s viewing pleasure when he got back to the room. But when Dean groaned in pain and curled up tighter, Sam snapped back into reality, shame burning a hole in his stomach. What the _fuck_ was he doing having thoughts like that?

            He shook himself and set the groceries down on the table, toed out of his shoes and got on the bed. “It’s okay, Dean. I’m back.”

            “God, Sam,” he groaned. “I hate this. I hate it so much.”

            “I know,” he tried to soothe, even though Dean Winchester was not a man to be soothed. “We’re halfway there, right?” He stretched out on the bed.

            “Oh, fuck you and your cup-half-full bullshit,” Dean snapped angrily as he rolled over and moved on top of Sam. He braced his hands on the bed, leaning over his younger brother.

            The position was still so strange – so intimate, but Sam shook it off and took Dean’s straining erection into his mouth, jaw screaming in agony at being forced wide yet again. The discomfort was so bad, it almost brought tears to his eyes. As Dean fell into a fucking motion, Sam just tried to breathe through it. He focused on moving his tongue and sucking. He even put his hands on Dean’s thighs and rubbed them, anything to distract himself from the way it felt like his lower jaw was about to fall completely off. Sam was sure his pain must show on his face, so he was glad Dean never opened his eyes while they were doing this.

            When Dean’s small spurt of hot come finally hit the back of his throat, Sam almost cried with relief. The older Winchester flopped onto his back, throwing one arm over his face. Sam got to his feet again, rubbing his aching jaw, and went to the groceries. He knew he should make Dean something nutritious, but he just couldn’t make himself. Instead, he pulled a plastic container of apple pie out of one of the sacks, got a fork, and took it to the bed. “Here,” he said, holding the items out to Dean.

            Dean removed his arm and opened his eyes. When he saw the pie, a smile crept over his face. “Pie,” he said almost lovingly. Invigorated, he sat up and dug in.

            Seeing Dean smile brought one to his own face and Sam was glad that he’d gotten more than one slice for his brother. He actually felt a little lighter as he made his own turkey and cheese sandwich. They were going to be okay after this. Things would probably be weird for a while, but they would get past this. And all those weird feelings that he was having? They’d stop once this was all over. They were just his brain trying to make the things they had to do more bearable.

            Sam quickly ate his sandwich, his jaw screaming at him the entire time. Looking over at the bed where Dean was sitting cross legged, he could see that his cock had returned to life again. Looking at it now, he didn’t know how he’d manage to suck it again. _You’ll do it because you_ have _to_ , he told himself unconvincingly.

            Dean set his trash on the bedside table. “You think we could fit a shower in next? I’d kill for a fucking shower.”

            “We could probably manage it.” The only problem would be that Dean would likely need help. Because of all the stress he was under with this curse and how little sleep he’d gotten, he was unsteady whenever he was on his feet. Especially when the pain got to building up in him. Then the absurdity of it hit Sam. Like helping his brother shower could possibly be any worse than what they’d already done?

            Chiding himself for being a fucking idjit, he got them both some more water – it was important that they stay hydrated – before sitting down on the bed. Dean didn’t have to tell him that it was time; by now, he knew. He started to lay back on the bed, but then he looked at Dean’s cock again and he knew – he _knew_ that he couldn’t do it again. They were going to have to do something else.

            “Ah, hell,” he sighed. “I can’t do it again, Dean. I can barely talk my jaw is so damn sore.”

            Dean shifted on the bed, his muscles coiled with tension, cock twitching with need. “So jerk me off again.”

            Sam doubted if he could do that either. He just picked up the lube and handed it to Dean before his hands went to the fly of his pants and pushed them down.

            His brother swore violently. “Sammy, _no_. I know that was too far. Too much like –“ _Like fucking me_ , Sam finished. Yeah, he didn’t want to do it either. He was afraid of feeling like he had before. But, like he’d just told himself earlier, whatever they had to do, they’d get past it. This was all about getting Dean through this curse.

            Sam just stepped out of his pants and, as an after thought, pulled off his shirt. What was the point in keeping it on anymore? He’d have to take it off when he helped Dean shower anyway. Then he laid down on the bed on his side. He cocked one leg up. “Just do it, Dean.”

            He felt Dean hesitate, the heat of his body close but not yet against him. He could feel the tension radiating off of the older man. After a long moment, Dean swore again and the lid of the lube snapped open. Sam couldn’t see what he was doing, but he could hear the _snick-snick-snick_ sound of Dean working the lube over his cock. He jumped a little when he felt Dean’s hand on his thighs, rubbing the lube over his skin. Though Sam had touched him countless times since he’d been cursed, this was the first time Dean had touched him. It sent blood rushing to his cock and Sam prayed that Dean wouldn’t notice. Unlike before, Dean wasn’t out of his mind from the lust. Sam was incredibly thankful that he was facing away from Dean and that his brother always kept his eyes shut tight.

            Dean’s hand left him and another moment passed, then a hot, hard length found its way between Sam’s legs and he eased his leg down. Dean hissed softly and started to move, but couldn’t get the right angle, the right force to keep the momentum going. He was trying to do this without touching him, Sam realized. Their lower bodies were pressed together, but Dean was leaning away from him, keeping space between Sam’s back and his chest. He didn’t have either hand on Sam either.

            Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. He reached back and found Dean’s arm and drew it over his side, locking it against his chest. “Would you just hold on and go? This’ll go faster if you aren’t so awkward about it.”

            That actually forced a laugh out of Dean before he went quiet. Reluctantly, he tightened his arm around Sam and pulled his little brother close. Now they were skin to skin, completely meshed together. And Dean’s hips started to move, cock sliding in and out of the gripping heat his thighs provided. Sam couldn’t quite suppress the shudder that rippled through him. Of course, he wanted to think it was disgust that caused it – his _brother_ was _fucking_ his thighs for fucks sake – but he knew that wasn’t it. His achingly hard dick proved that. He was incredibly, unwillingly, turned on. Dean was thrusting against him, his hips grinding into Sam’s ass, cock rubbing over his balls. His hand clutched at Sam’s chest on every forward thrust, holding Sam in place. And it felt so _good_.

            Sam found himself pushing back into the delicious heat at this back. He was getting lost, the lucid part of his brain realized. Lost in what Dean was unwittingly doing to his body. And part of him didn’t care. He just wanted more. More of Dean’s heat, more of Dean’s cock sliding between his legs, the friction never enough but so good anyway. Sam’s breaths started to come faster, his body in a state of pure reaction. His head kicked back onto Dean’s shoulder and his hand came back to dig blunt nails into Dean’s hip. His brother’s head came forward, pressing his forehead against Sam’s sweaty shoulder, hot, panting breaths puffing against already over-heated skin.

            He was about to reach for his own cock, damn the consequences, when Dean stiffened against him, wetness shooting onto Sam’s thighs. And _disappointment_ flooded Sam. He’d been so _close_ , even though nothing had touched his dick, he’d been so close to an orgasm of his own. But Dean rolled away, cold, motel air chilling his sweat-slicked skin, and bringing Sam back down to earth. Oh, _Christ_ that was bad. Earlier, he had felt sure that the feelings he got when he did things to Dean were just survival responses, things to help his mind cope with what they were doing. But that…that _abandon_ wasn’t survival. That was lust.

            “Sam?” Dean said softly, worry evident in his voice. “You okay?”

            He realized he’d been laying there for at least a minute, unmoving. He kicked himself into gear, sitting up facing away from Dean. He couldn’t let Dean see how hard he was. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. I’m gonna go start the water for the shower.” In a flash, he was on his feet and in the bathroom.

            The water was hot long before his hard on went away.

            Finally, he returned to the other room. “Alright, shower’s ready.”

            Dean shakily got to his feet and Sam took his arm despite his glowering. “Took a while.”

            Sam coughed into his hand. “Yeah. Motel must be busy.” His brother just grunted, seeming to think nothing more of the matter, much to Sam’s relief.

            The two shuffled into the bathroom. Sam didn’t even consider asking Dean if he wanted to try doing this solo. He’d say yes, of course, but Sam didn’t want to risk it. The curse was coming at him harder and faster now, and Sam wanted to be there to catch him if Dean’s knees went weak. _And you want to see him all wet and slick_ , a voice in his mind whispered. His face darkened. He definitely didn’t _want_ to be showering with his brother; it was necessity.

            Ignoring the voice in his head that whispered lewd thoughts as well as his brother’s grumbling, Sam got them both into the shower. He rested his hands on Dean’s waist, helping Dean maintain his balance.

            The elder Winchester sighed as he stood under the hot spray. “Fuck that’s good.” His hands only a little shaky, he picked up the cheap motel soap and started washing himself. Sam, meanwhile, kept his eyes studiously on the off-white shower wall. In his head, he thought about lore and spells and how they could catch this witch. Anything to _not_ think about the slick skin that kept brushing against his in the close confines of the shower.

            Under his hands, he could feel the tension rising in his brother, his muscles turning into steel under smooth skin. “You alright?” he muttered into the quiet.

            Dean started turning around. Reluctantly, Sam let him, helping him turn to face him. “Yeah. Not too bad yet.” He picked up the shampoo and started to wash his hair.

            Looking away was harder now. He tried – fuck did he try – but his eyes kept straying back to Dean’s hairless chest. Soap ran in rivulets down his muscular body. He imagined resting his hands on that strong chest, sliding slowly downwards over the flat stomach. Learning the taut muscles by touch the way he knew them already by sight. As the water ran clear of soap, he imagined following the path his hands had taken with his tongue, licking the water from clean, tanned skin.

            God! What was _wrong_ with him? He had never had thoughts like this before. This curse was fucking with his head. All of this would blow over after tomorrow, right? This had to be like those times when you had a dream that you were in love with someone and woke up loving them; you didn’t _really_ feel that way, your brain was just confused. He was just confused, is all.

            Suddenly, Dean swayed towards him, his hands coming up to hang on to Sam’s shoulders. A groan clawed its way out of his chest. “Sammy.”

            It was time again.

            “Okay, hang in another minute.” Hurriedly, Sam got them out of the shower and wrapped a towel around Dean, drying him off in the most clinical manner he could muster up. Haphazardly tying a towel around his own waist, he helped his brother back into the other room and down onto the bed before drying himself off. Then he got back onto the bed, facing away from Dean. His cock was already twitching to life with excitement. His brain was thoroughly fucked, but Little Sam sure seemed to know what it wanted. The bastard.

            “Fuck,” Dean muttered softly. “You sure…?”

            “Just do it, Dean.”

            _Snap._ _Snick-snick-snick_. Then the bed jostled as Dean moved onto his side. Sam jumped a little as his hand came between his thighs, pressing the top one up a little. Then a warm palm slicked with lube slid against him. Finally, cock again, sliding between his thighs. Dean wrapped his arm around his chest, holding him close. Sam arched his head back, fitting it into the hollow of his older brother’s shoulder; Dean’s chin came to rest against Sam’s broad shoulder.

            And it began again. Too-hot, sweaty skin pressed tight together. Dean’s hips snapping into Sam’s, working to get off as quickly as possible. Sam, hard enough to pound nails, grinding his ass back against Dean. Wanting just a little _more_. _So close, just a little more._ But he wouldn’t let himself reach for his dick. It was bad enough that Dean _had_ to notice the way he was fucking back against him. It was bad enough that he was achy and aroused from this. He didn’t need to make this even worse by getting off. He couldn’t cross that line.

            But he fucking wanted to.


	3. Day Three

            The hours stretched on and the forty-eight hour mark finally passed. There was only one day left now. They could make it. Just one more day. How bad could it be after all they had done already?

            The answer: bad. Very bad.

            Dean flopped back onto the bed, sweaty and shaky after fucking Sam’s thighs again. As usual, Sam high-tailed it into the bathroom. He didn’t know what his brother thought. By the time he’d gotten himself cleaned up and his cock talked down, it was time for the next round, so it certainly had to look like a stupid thing to be doing. But Dean didn’t ask and Sam didn’t offer. Dean probably knew he didn’t want to know, just like he pretended not to notice the way Sam responded while Dean was fucking his thighs.

            When he came back into the room, Dean was staring at his cock, which was pointed up, ever-ready as it was. Looking at it, Sam also felt himself start to tingle, anticipating what was going to happen in just a couple of minutes.

            “Sammy…”

            _Make that now, I guess_ , Sam thought as he moved to the bed.

            “No, Sam, listen,” Dean said, serious despite the pain laced into his voice. Since they’d entered the third day, they curse wasn’t offering much in the way of a reprieve. “I – I don’t think I can.”

            “Dean, you know we have to.”

            “No, I know, Sam.” He groaned in frustration and hit his fist against the bed. “I _know_. But I’m telling you, I don’t think I physically can.” He pointed down at his hard cock. “It feels like it’s about to fall off. It _hurts_ , man.”

            Shit. Sam had been afraid of this. Cocks just weren’t _meant_ for the kind of continuous fucking that they’d been doing, even with lube to keep the friction down. Yet, what other option did they have?

            He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Can’t you, I don’t know, power through?”

            “I’ve _been_ doing that. For hours now.”

            Sam chewed his lower lip. “I could try sucking you again. That might be easier on you.”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “Well, we’ve got to do _something_.”

            Dean groaned softly, twisting over onto his side. “I know. Shit, I – I think you’re gonna have to – “ He broke off with another low groan.

            Heat flickered down Sam’s spine as he understood what Dean was saying. “Dean, I don’t think – “

            He glared up at his younger brother. “Do you see another fucking option? Do you think I _want_ you to – to – “ He broke off and swore again. “To fuck me?” He finished, disgust plain in his voice.

            A flush rode up Sam’s neck and over his face. When he had actually let himself think that it might come to this, he’d never thought that it would be _Dean_ to be the catcher, so to speak. He tried to drum up an argument, but he knew Dean was right. He needed stimulation and, now, as little of that needed to be focused on his cock as possible. He’d probably still need a stroking hand to get him off, but maybe if Sam were…were fucking him, that contact would be minimal.

            “You know I’ve…been trying to avoid this,” Dean muttered, twisting over onto his other side now, curling into himself. “Tried to think…of anything else. But there’s just not.”

            Sam swallowed hard and his eyes fell to Dean’s pert ass. Sam might be conflicted, but his dick sure as shit wasn’t. It was ready and raring to go. He took several deep breaths and picked up the lube, which was mostly gone now. “Okay, Dean.” He rested his hand on Dean’s tense back. “Just…just try to relax.”

            Dean’s response was a choked laugh. “You fucking try to relax. Not like I’ve done this before.”

            Sam couldn’t even remember when he’d last had anal sex with a woman. He’d never been the ladies man that Dean was. He knew that he’d done it at some point over the years, but, for the life of him, couldn’t remember when or who with. God, he fucking hoped he could make this good. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Dean more pain.

            Dean cleared his throat. “So, how should I – How d’you – “

            Sam flushed hotly again. “Um…” He grabbed the flat motel pillow. “On your stomach, and, um, put this under you.” It was supposed to be easier on your stomach, he vaguely remembered. Easier to relax.

            Without saying anything else, Dean did as Sam asked. Now, Dean’s ass was arched into the air, perfectly presented to the younger man. His cock twitched with desire. Fuck, maybe he should’ve rubbed one out in the bathroom earlier after all. The last thing he needed was to come before Dean got off.

            Sam bit his lower lip hard, pushing away the lustful thoughts. This was about _Dean_. About getting _his brother_ through his. That’s it. Trying to calm his racing heart, Sam gently nudged Dean’s legs apart and settled between them. With this new position, he could see Dean’s virgin hole peeking out from between his round ass cheeks. His cock jerked. Keeping his cool was going to be harder than he could’ve imagined.

            He poured cool lube over his fingers and thought he should probably warn him. “I’m going to start,” he said softly. Dean just nodded jerkily, hands fisted in the ugly orange sheets. Chewing his lower lip almost hard enough to bruise, Sam laid one hand on Dean’s thigh and brought his lubed-up fingers to Dean’s hole. The older man jolted as Sam touched him, but quickly held himself still. The thigh under Sam’s hand was hard as rock.

            His fingers rubbed Dean’s hole slowly, trying will the muscle to relax. He started to ease one in, but could barely get it inside so he pulled back and continued to rub gently. Dean was like granite, his muscles were coiled up so tight. Sam slid his free hand up Dean’s back, rubbing slow circles over his lower back. “Easy, it’s okay. Gonna take this slow. Just try to relax.” He continued murmuring soothing platitudes, stroking Dean’s back, and rubbing slick fingers over his hole.

            Sam wasn’t sure if what he was doing relaxed Dean or if the curse was just driving him out of his mind, but after a few minutes, the tension eased enough that Sam could press one finger into him. Dean hissed softly, a little of the tension returning, but didn’t try to pull away. Sam murmured softly to him and rocked his finger in him. This was going to take a while, he realized. Dean was tight as a vice around his finger; Sam would need to get him used to at least two more of his fingers inside of him and still Sam’s cock would probably be a challenge.

            It took several more minutes of gentle coaxing but Sam was able to work a second finger into Dean’s ass. Under him, Dean was completely silent, his fists clenching and unclenching in the sheets. Sam felt sick. He knew Dean wasn’t remotely into this. He was hard because the curse forced his cock to life, not because he was turned on by what Sam was doing to him. Unlike Sam, who felt hot all over, his cock weeping with need. Jesus, he was a sick fuck. He couldn’t _want_ to fuck his brother. That was fucking disgusting. _Just doing what you’ve got to_ , he told himself.

            With two fingers now in him, he tried finding his prostate. It was the so-called male g-spot. If Dean was going to get anything out of this, it would be thanks to that little gland. He crooked his fingers down, unsure what he was actually trying to feel for. Then his fingers rubbed over a little firm spot and Dean jerked under him, a surprised moan tearing from his lips.

            “What…?”

            Sam smiled and rubbed the spot again, drawing another low moan from his brother. “I got you, Dean.” At least now, Dean was getting something out of this. It might not be what he wanted – but what part of this was. It probably wouldn’t be enough to push him over the edge, but, if Sam could keep up the stimulation on his gland, maybe this wouldn’t be a completely awful experience for him.

            He worked his fingers into him, thrusting slowly and making sure to rub against his gland every time he pushed in. It was having the desired effect. Dean’s breaths started coming faster, his hips canting backwards to meet the thrusts of Sam’s fingers. His legs shifted, spreading wider to give him better access. When Sam pressed a third finger into him, he hardly flinched, after a moment of adjustment he was rocking back to get more again.

            Even after Sam thought Dean was probably ready, he continued to stretch him with his fingers. He had to take his time; before he entered his brother, he had to be absolutely _sure_ there would be as little discomfort as possible. Dean, the man who always took care of others, was trusting Sam to take care of him now.

            Dean was moaning raggedly, balling the sheet in his fists – out of pleasure this time. The bathroom light had been left on – total darkness was kind of a moot point by now – and Sam could see Dean in the low light. There was a sheen of sweat on his face and was pooling in the hollow of his back. His face was flushed and drawn tight with pleasure, full lower lip clenched between white teeth. He was as ready as he was going to be, Sam decided and withdrew his fingers. A little sound that almost sounded like disappointment left Dean.

            Sam poured more lube over his cock and lined himself up, the head of his cock kissing Dean’s loosened hole. He took Dean’s hips into his hands, holding him steady, and thrust slowly inside. Tight heat gripped him like a vice. Dean stiffened a little and groaned, this time in pain. Sam froze. “Should I stop?” They never spoke when they were doing things, but what did it really matter now? What fantasy could Dean possibly be imagining that would explain this?

            Dean grunted. “No. S’okay. Just weird. Hurts a little.”

            Sam stroked his hands over Dean’s sweaty back, remaining still, seated to the hilt inside of his older brother. Though his cock was screaming at him to _move_ , he held himself in check. This was all about Dean. All about the curse. Nothing more.

            Dean shifted under him, forcing Sam to bite back a moan. “You can, y’know, move.”

            He didn’t double check; he had to trust Dean to know if he was ready or not right now. Slowly, he drew his hips back and thrust inside again. Dean moaned softly and didn’t sound like he was in pain, so Sam did it again and then again. He fell into a rhythm, beginning to thrust a little faster, more surely. Thought was draining out of his head and he was getting lost in sensation again, only it was so much _better_ this time. This was no teasing rub against his balls; instead, he was balls deep in Dean’s snug hole. Needing _more_ , he dropped down onto his elbows, plastering his chest against Dean’s back, pressing his face into Dean’s sweaty hair. And that angle must’ve hit Dean just right, too, because he moaned sharply and thrust himself back onto Sam’s cock.

            Sam could feel his orgasm barreling in like a freight train, but Dean wasn’t there yet. His hips picked up speed, driving into his older brother’s fit body, and he felt an absurd amount of pleasure knowing that, if he so chose, he could fuck Dean as hard as he wanted. Dean was no fragile woman that he had to be careful with. He was a hunter; he could take anything Sam might dish out. The knowledge was heady and, as he felt his orgasm drawing closer, he gripped Dean tighter against him with one arm, and, with the other, reached under Dean and took his cock in hand with the gentlest grip he could manage. He focused on the head, the most sensitive part. He could feel Dean’s tight body under him, knew he was on the knife’s edge; he just needed to give Dean that little bit more in order to get him there. He bit his lower lip hard, trying to stave off his orgasm just a little longer.

            Beneath him, Dean’s whole body stiffened and he cried out, bucking into Sam’s hand as he came. Sam stifled a cry of his own as his climax ripped through him with all the power of an eighteen wheeler. He’d mean to pull out, finish in his hand, but he hadn’t been prepared for the spasms that squeezed his cock just _right_ as Dean came. All Sam could do was hold on tight to his brother as he shot his load deep inside his ass.

            When his own spasms finally eased and he could process rational thought again, shame swamped him. He should _not_ have done that. Stomach roiling and hands shaky, he pulled out as gently as he could and realized something else; he hadn’t worn a condom. Even now, he could see spunk beginning to ooze from the stretched hole. He was clean – of course he was – but that was still an unnecessary intimacy. Something he’d never shared with _anyone_. He sat back on his ass as Dean flopped over onto his back.

            “Shit, Dean, I – I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of getting a condom and – and I _swear_ I didn’t mean to – “

            Dean just sighed, exhaustion written on his face. “Stop it, Sammy. What’s the point? We’d just run out of condoms before the day is over anyway. I’m running low and you carry – what? One for emergencies?” He shrugged. “I’m clean. You’re clean. So fuck it.”

            “But I came in – “

            “Yeah. I noticed.” He wiggled on the bed as, no doubt, more come oozed out of him. “And it feels fucking weird. But what does it fucking matter anymore?” Dean looked up at Sam. “Really, like there’s a line we _haven’t_ crossed?”

            _We haven’t kissed_. A flush suffused Sam’s cheeks at the thought of kissing his brother, but, hopefully, the older man would just think it was over what they had just done, not something else.

            Sam cleared his throat. “You want to clean up?”

            “What’s the point?” Dean asked again. “We’re just going to do it again in ten minutes.” He laughed suddenly, darkly. “Hope you can keep up, Sammy.”

            Given the way his body was reacting to Dean’s, he really didn’t think that was going to be much of an issue.

            As if by some unspoken agreement, they waited longer before the next round. Sam wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just that neither of them wanted to do it again. Dean, certainly, hadn’t so much enjoyed it as responded to the stimuli Sam was providing. Sam, well, he hadn’t _wanted_ to enjoy it. Besides their own personal feelings regarding the matter, Sam also suspected Dean might be trying to hold off as long as he could because the worse the curse was, the easier it was for him to accept Sam. The more the burning lust ate away at him, the less rational thought his mind processed. Then it wasn’t so much easy as it was less difficult. Sam hated to see his brother suffering, twisting and turning on the bed, fruitlessly trying to alleviate the clawing pain, but he had to admit the necessity, even for himself. Sam wasn’t powered by a curse and, even though Little Sam was an easy riser right now, they still had a long time to go before things were over. He could only imagine that, towards the very end, they would be forced to have sex non-stop.

            Looking back, he wished they had spaced the first day out more. Dean was suffering twice as much now as he had then. Twenty-twenty hindsight was a real bitch.

            Finally, when Dean was panting and moaning almost continuously, Sam eased down onto the bed. He laid his hand on Dean’s glistening chest, feeling his heart pounding. “Easy, just try to breathe. Let’s do this, yeah?” He rubbed Dean’s chest gently and he arched into the rubbing, practically purring. “Just roll onto your side.” He grabbed the lube and laid down as Dean did as he asked. The elder Winchester even raised his leg up, as he had seen Sam do so many times in the last day. Sam wished it were as simple as fucking his brother’s thighs.

            It didn’t take much time to prepare him this time. His hole had closed up some in the interim, but, after a minute of Sam working a couple of fingers in him, he opened back up. Sam withdrew his fingers and eased up against Dean’s back, pressing them together. Now it was Dean’s head that came to rest on his shoulder, arching back with a deep moan as Sam pushed inside, sinking slowly into tight, wet heat. He slid his hand down Dean’s thigh and drew it back over his own. Over Dean’s shoulder, he could see his weeping, angry-red cock. He wanted it in his mouth again. He wanted to soothe Dean’s ache with his tongue, wanted to feel him throbbing in his mouth as he came. Inside Dean, his cock jerked in response to the thoughts swirling around Sam’s head, and he was too far gone to stop them. He clutched Dean against him, his big hand splayed on Dean’s chest, and began thrusting against him. He worked up quickly to a hard pace, pulling harsh breaths and grunts out of Dean.

            Not pleasured moans, he realized, in the tiny fragment of his brain that could process thought. He wasn’t hitting the right place. He tried adjusting their bodies but, in this position, it just wasn’t working. Feeling a spike of frustration, he rolled with Dean until his brother was back on his stomach. Dean just let himself be handled; he was just a ball of sensation at this point, his entire life focused on the lust rushing through his veins. He’d contort himself into any position that Sam needed in order to get what his body craved.

            Sam leaned up on his knees, gripping Dean’s hips and pulling them up, and then he started to thrust again. This time, Dean arched under him with a pleasured gasp, and Sam knew he’d hit the right spot this time. He held Dean tightly in place and picked up a hard pace. He could feel the tension coiling in his lower back, felt himself getting higher and higher. He needed Dean to get there, but, also, he needed both hands to keep Dean at just the right angle for his thrusts.

            “Jerk yourself,” he grunted. The witch had said that Dean jerking himself alone wouldn’t work, but he wasn’t alone, right? Sam was providing stimulation. Dean just needed to add a little more.

            Dean moaned hoarsely and reached under himself, fisting his cock as Sam rode his ass. Barely a minute later, he let out several harsh moans – one of which sounded suspiciously like _Sammy_ – and jerked beneath the larger man’s body. Sam bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as Dean’s pulses sucked him under, blowing a second load into Dean.

            He collapsed onto the bed on his back, breathing harshly. Dean, meanwhile, lay on his stomach, groaning softly. He knew his come would be seeping out of Dean’s ass. _Maybe it won’t all come out. If not, it’ll help lubricate him for the next round._

            It was funny the places your head would go in the most bizarre of circumstances.

            During the “break” – more like agonizing delay for Dean – Sam tried to offer a distraction by giving Dean the last slice of pie he’d bought. Sam couldn’t eat, but he downed some more water.

            He leaned against the sink, his eyes boring into the ones in the mirror. His head was so entirely fucked at this point. He was _anticipating_ the next round. It had only been a couple of minutes and, already, his dick was trying to rise to the occasion. Where was the barely-suppressed disgust from the first day? What was happening to him? He’d never once in his life felt attracted to a man before, yet somehow his brother – without even trying – was revving his engine harder than anyone ever had. Was it at all possible that the curse was affecting him too? Sudden hope swelled in his chest. Perhaps the witch’s real curse had been for Sam, not Dean. Maybe, with every act they committed, the more Sam fell under the curse’s thrall. That _had_ to be it. That was the only thing that could explain the way he was feeling.

            Suddenly, he felt better. Once the curse’s time had passed, everything inside of him would return to normal. This would all just be a bad memory that he suppressed with hunting and hard liquor.

            _So then you can stop being so damn melodramatic about fucking him._ He glowered at the mirror, shoving away that loud little voice in his head. Just because he had an explanation didn’t make it actually okay. Not really.

            He must have stayed at the sink for longer than he realized, because, from the bed, Dean pulled him out of his thoughts.

            “Sammy,” he panted, twisting and arching in the mucked up sheets.

            Sam turned and looked over at his older brother and nearly swallowed his tongue. Dean was on his back, on leg pulled up and to the side. The heel of the other dug into the bed as his back arched, chest moving rapidly. In an instant, Sam was hard again. As he went over to the bed, he determined that he would just stop thinking about the rights and wrongs of this. He felt how he felt for now. It’d go away, so, for now, it just was what it was. There was no point in making himself sick over it.

            He eased onto the bed and Dean started to turn over but Sam laid a hand on his thigh. “No.” He picked up the lube and eased himself between Dean’s legs, which widened to accommodate him. To his surprise, the older man didn’t argue. Sam poured lube over his cock, figuring Dean would be loose enough now that he didn’t need further preparation, and looked down at him. Dean’s striking green eyes, heavy lidded, dark with lust, were on Sam, a question in them. One that Sam didn’t answer. He grabbed the pillow. “Raise up.” When Dean did so, he shoved the pillow under his ass. Pleased with the way Dean was now obscenely arched up, Sam lined himself up and slid inside.

            They both let out a groan as Sam sank to the hilt, his hands coming up, unbidden, to run along Dean’s chest, much like he’d imagined earlier in the shower. No more questioning, just doing. He thrust slowly at first, determining if this was a good angle. When Dean moaned softly and his hands started to knead the covers, Sam guessed it must be doing it for him. He started to pump then, giving in to the screaming need inside of him to _movemovemove, moreharderfaster_. Even as his hips picked up a demanding pace, his hands moved languidly, stroking over the muscled planes of Dean’s chest and stomach, fingers riding the ridges of muscles pulled taut with desire. He was entirely fixated as he mapped Dean’s body with his hands. When his fingers stroked over tight nipples, Dean reacted with a harsh groan, arching up into the contact. Sam took the cue and rubbed, pinched, and played with Dean’s nipples until they were red and swollen and Dean was writhing, biting off curses. Sam had never given those two discs of flesh much thought; his didn’t do much for him, so he’d assumed it was the same for other men. He’d remember for the next sessions.

            As the pressure started to build again, Sam dropped down onto his elbows. Their faces were so close together now. Dean’s eyes had closed, his head kicked back into the bed. He was sucking in harsh breaths as Sam withdrew and letting them go with deep grunts as Sam thrust inside. Although their chests were pressed together now and Sam’s lower stomach rubbed against Dean’s cock, Dean otherwise didn’t touch him. His legs were against the bed, hands fisted in the sheet. It frustrated Sam; he couldn’t help but want Dean’s hands on him, now that they were face to face, as unreasonable a desire as it was.

            He couldn’t resist looking down into Dean’s face as he moved above him. All of the masks his brother usually wore were stripped away now. Everything he felt was laid bare. Need, pleasure, pain. His full lips parted as he let out another moan – and Sam did the last thing he should’ve. He closed the last bit of distance between them and took Dean’s mouth in a hungry kiss. The older Winchester made a low sound deep in his throat and kissed him back, his tongue diving into Sam’s mouth, taking control even though Sam was the instigator. His arms came up, wrapping around the bigger man’s middle, then, a heartbeat later, his legs came up, hooking around his waist, heels digging themselves into Sam’s ass.

            They moved together now. Dean did more than accept; he gave back, using his strong legs to fuck himself back against Sam. When the sex grew too demanding to keep the connection between their mouths, their faces stayed close together, Sam’s forehead pressed against Dean’s. And when they came, both of their eyes were open, staring into the others’. In the aftermath, when their hearts were still pounding out of their chests, they didn’t move immediately apart. Sam rested against him for just a few moments and his older brother held him close.

            Time lost meaning as the tiny gaps between sessions grew shorter and shorter until Dean was in too much agony for them to stop; only when they were fucking did the older man have any relief. Once the orgasms were over, Dean’s curse attacked him, ten fold. Despite Sam’s earlier boasting, he wasn’t actually sure how he was managing to rise to the occasion after all the times he had orgasmed. He could only guess that it was an effect of the curse. He knew, in the tiny part of his brain that still had coherent thoughts, that the end had to be nigh. For hours they’d been in a constant state of fucking which must herald the climax of the curse. But fuck if he could manage to find the time or the fraction of energy necessary to actually look at the clock. Everything was focused on the body beneath him.

            Dean was on his knees, chest down against the bed. Sam had sprawled himself on top of him and run his arms under Dean’s chest, holding onto his shoulders for leverage. With every inward thrust, Sam pulled Dean back onto his cock. He pressed his hot cheek against Dean’s shoulder, the motions and sounds so familiar now, but they somehow never got tired to him. He could listen to Dean’s heated moans on repeat for the rest of his life and they’d continue to turn him on. Or, even better, his groaned name, which was wrenched out of him every time Sam hit his prostate just right. Sam’s orgasm was starting to close in on him, and he clutched Dean harder to him, his brother’s name a horse whisper on his lips.

            And then the tension swept out of the room.

            Sam could actually feel the difference. The all-consuming, crushing _thing_ that had been inside of Dean was there one moment and then it was gone, as if it had never been. The curse had ended. It was over.

            He pushed up onto his elbows and looked down at Dean, achingly aware that he was still buried balls deep inside of his brother. He should pull out – he should _want_ to pull out – but he didn’t. He just wanted to keep going. The fervor inside of Dean was gone but Sam’s wasn’t. Still, he knew he had to do what was right. At least, he was going to until Dean worked himself back onto his cock, the tight muscle squeezing around his buried length. Sam bit back a curse and his hips began to move again. Maybe Dean hadn’t noticed that it was over. He should still stop, should tell him it was over. Should, being the operative word. Knowing this would be the last time, he held hard onto his brother as he thrust against him. Too soon, the pressure became undeniable, his thrusts coming sharper and harder. Under him, as Sam felt the pleasure inside him growing tauter, Dean moaned his name and stiffened. It was the final straw for Sam and he followed him into the orgasm.

            A brief moment later, Sam rolled away, laying on his back. The cottage cheese ceiling suddenly became very interesting. What did he do with himself now? What did he say? What _could_ he say? When it was over, it would all go back to normal, but nothing felt normal at this moment. They should talk about it, right? That would be the healthy thing to do. The _Sam_ thing to do. But, truthfully, he wanted to forget this had ever happened. He wanted to forget that he had felt the things he had. Whatever Dean wanted, he decided. However Dean chose to handle this, that was what they would do.

            Dean lay still for a long minute, not even rousing enough to roll over. Finally, when Sam was about to ask – ask what? he had no idea – Dean rolled from the bed and stood. He looked down at Sam. “First I’m going to shower. Then we’re burning this goddamn place to the ground.” He stalked off into the bathroom.

            So that was that. _It_ never happened.

 


	4. Epilogue

            They didn’t burn the motel to the ground, although Sam had actually had to argue with Dean over at least setting the bed on fire. The older man was angry, not at Sam, though, which was good. All his anger was focused the Sam place that Sam’s was – on the goddamned witch. All that mattered was hunting her down and making her good and dead.

            The hunt gave them something to focus on besides the behemoth-sized polka dot elephant in the Impala. Words were pretty sparse, actually. Dean only spoke when he had something he absolutely needed to say, which usually revolved around the case. At first, that was fine with Sam. He was sorting his own head out and mashing memories as hard as he could into little boxes that he could nail shut. He didn’t even bitch when Dean put his music on the radio just a little too loud; anything to help keep his mind from going _there_.

            It was a few days later, hot on the witch’s trail, when Sam realized something was _wrong_. They were in their motel room late in the evening. Sam sat at the rickety old table, laptop screen glowing in front of him as he researched their newest lead. Then the bathroom door opened and Dean came out of the steam-filled room, nothing on but a worn towel wrapped around his hips. Sam’s mouth went bone dry as desire hummed through his veins. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Dean’s chest where rivulets of water were running down from his hair.

 _Nononono!_ He screamed internally, ripping his eyes away and forcibly putting them back on the computer screen. The curse was over! He wasn’t supposed to keep getting turned on by looking at his _brother_. He had _never_ had these feelings before the curse. He liked _girls_. Hell, he’d nearly married one. Before now, he’d never given any man a look, and now _this_?

            Completely oblivious to the way Sam’s whole concept of himself was crashing to the ground, Dean pulled on a pair of boxers and climbed into bed, apparently headed into the peaceful escape of his dreams. Sam just sat, frozen, at the table. This had to be some trick from the witch. She was evil – that much they’d already known. She was probably laughing her pretty ass off thinking about Sam lusting after his brother. Hatred swelled in his stomach, washing away the lust. When they found her, he was going to make her reverse whatever it was she had done. And then, he was going to kill her.

            Following the realization that he was still under the effects of a spell, Sam could hardly bring himself to look at Dean over the next days without a flush making his face flame. Mercifully, Dean seemed not to notice. He was all-consumed by the hunt, which, in the past, probably would’ve worried Sam. It wasn’t healthy to be eating, breathing, sleeping their job. This was a special case. It was personal.

            One day, three weeks and two states after they had resumed the hunt, Dean walked into the diner where Sam was eating and threw a paper down on the table. It was an address.

            “I found them,” he said grimly.

            Sam felt his stomach clench. “So, when do we go?” The address was in the city limits, not far.

            “We’re going after them tonight.”

            Relief and hope fluttered in his chest. Maybe, _maybe_ , tonight everything would finally click back into place, be normal again. They would put it to rest, once and for all. Sam would stop feeling these awful things. They could be brothers again.

            As it turns out, that wasn’t exactly the case.

            Oh, they got the pieces of shit alright. Sam first had to find the necessary spell to temporarily bind their magic long enough for Sam and Dean to get close enough to take them out. That was child’s play. Working the spell was a bit of a challenge, only because they had to find the necessary ingredients before that night. The only issue was that it had to be worked while they were in the immediate vicinity of the witches. Less easy.

            “How close do you think we need to be?” Dean whispered as they looked up at the nondescript house the witches were staying at.

            Sam finished arming himself from the trunk and closed it. “Just inside the house, I think. If they’re both inside, it should put us in close enough proximity for the spell to work.”

            “Great. Here’s hoping they don’t have any hoodoo that’ll alert them when we get inside.”

 _When are we ever that lucky?_ Sam just had to hope he could sprinkle the dust and say the incantation quickly. While Dean picked their way into the house, Sam held the spell dust – which stank like a potpourri store on steroids – in his hands, ready to start spouting Latin the moment they were inside.

            “Go go go,” Dean said as he barreled into the house, gun drawn.

            Sam rushed in after him and started throwing the dust about with one hand while the other held the slip of paper he was reading from. It was difficult in the dim light and he stumbled over a few of the words.

            “Don’t you boys ever learn?” The hated-familiar witch said as she came down the stairs. Her lover, a well-muscled man who appeared to be in his thirties but was probably much older, came out of another room, just feet away from Dean.

            “Go to Hell,” Dean hissed venomously. The man waved his hand and Dean flew into the nearest wall with a loud _crack_ as plaster buckled.

            Sam flew through the spell as fast as his lips could move and, finally, he flung the last of the odorous dust at the male witch – the one who was closing in on him, teeth bared. As soon as the last words left his mouth, manacles briefly appeared on their wrists, glowing gold. Sam ignored the man completely and charged up the stairs at the shocked female witch. He had to confront her away from Dean.

            Sam hauled her onto the landing and slammed her against the wall. “I took your powers – but only temporarily. I’ll let you live _if_ you take my curse away.” On the lower floor, he could hear Dean and the other witch fighting, but Sam didn’t worry. His brother was more than capable of handling one powerless witch on his own.

            The woman laughed shrilly in his face. “ _Your_ curse? What do you mean ‘your’ curse?” He bared his teeth in a silent snarl and shook her. She must’ve been able to see the barely-restrained violence in him, because she paled and shrank back against the wall. “Look, I’m really going to need some more explanation.”

            “The curse you put on me to want my own _brother_. That curse, you bitch.”

            “I didn’t!” She cried defensively. “I only cursed your brother.” A smile suddenly curved her lips. “Is that what’s wrong with you? Wittle Sammy wants his big bwudder?” She laughed again. “Oh that’s just too perfect!”

            He slammed her against the wall again, fear starting to lick at his nerves. She couldn’t be telling the truth. It was all part of the curse! “Don’t lie! I know you put a spell on me.”

            Her long nails dug into his arms. “The only one I cursed was your brother, and he’s free and clear. Now let me go.”

            Numbness replaced Sam’s fear. The witch had to be telling the truth; she knew her life was on the line. This thing inside of him, it was all him, not her magic. If numb shock hadn’t taken root, he would’ve felt sick. Woodenly, he pulled a knife from his coat, ignoring the way her eyes peeled wide, and stabbed her through the chest. Stumbling back from her, he went down the stairs, her body slumping to the floor.

            Dean was standing over the other witch’s body. He had a split lip and would probably have a shiner in the morning, but otherwise he appeared unhurt. Unhurt and hot, with his clothes all rumpled from their fight, a bloody knife in his hand. He looked up when he heard Sam on the stairs. “She dead?”

            Sam snapped out of his stupor enough to nod. “Real dead.”

            Dean’s shoulders lost a little of the tension that he’d been carrying around ever since they left the motel. He took a long breath and let it out. “Good. That’s good.” He nudged the dead witch with his foot. “Let’s take care of these two then.”

            Later, as Sam stood next to two burning pyres in the middle of the woods, his eyes on his brother, admiring the way his hair glinted in the fire light, Sam came to a realization. Dean may have been the one the witch cast a spell on, but Sam was the one who had been cursed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has to be a completely cliche plot - brother gets hit with a sex curse and they have to bone - but I just couldn't talk this plot bunny away. If you frequent fanfiction.net, you may have already read this one, as it has been posted in it's entirety there since November.


End file.
